


All They Ever Did (Was Cover It Up)

by antebunny



Series: Hela Odinsdottir [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor: Ragnarok - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempt at Humor, BAMF Hela (Marvel), Family Drama, Family Issues, Gen, Hela-centric, Massive Cankled Unicorns, OP Character, Odin's A+ Parenting, Sibling Bonding, Unreliable Narrator, Valkyrie - Freeform, but she's not a good character, or completely sane, sorry I really needed that to be a tag, this is actually gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 21:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14723876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antebunny/pseuds/antebunny
Summary: It's been two months since the end of the Muspelheim War.Two weeks since Odin had the mural torn down.Four days since Thor was born.In another universe, Hela lost it, killed General Tyr, fought the Valkyrior and killed all of them but Brunnhilde before Odin managed to banish her to Helheim, a barren wasteland of a realm.In another universe, she doesn't come back for fifteen hundred years, and when she finally does, she massacres the entire Asgardian army, attempts to kill both of her brothers, stabs Thor in the eye and takes over Asgard.In this universe, Hela makes another choice.





	All They Ever Did (Was Cover It Up)

**All They Ever Did (Was Cover It Up)**

* * *

**by antebunny**

 

 **“Do the assembled** have any further business they would like to bring before the general assembly?”

 

These words were for ceremonial purposes only. Always spoken by the king. Always spoken at the end of every assembly, be it court meeting or war meeting, but never answered. Never.

But today, they were pointed for one person to answer, and everyone knew it. She knew it, because even before the words left her father’s mouth, the majority of those assembled had turned their attention from Odin, King of Asgard, to his right hand.

Hela Odinsdottir. Heir to the throne of Asgard. Odin’s firstborn. Not a male.

Hela almost declared open rebellion against her father then. Almost.

She knew she could–successfully, that is. Who had been the commanding general during the wars with Vanaheim, Jotunheim, Alfheim, and Muspelheim? Who had been at Odin’s right hand during every single battle? It hadn’t been Tyr, for sure. The oaf. Who was the goddess of _death?_

She was. She could defeat Asgard’s army _single-handedly,_ she knew she could, and she had reasons to. Odin didn’t want to be a conquering warlord anymore. He didn’t want to be the feared leader who had taken over Vanaheim, Nidavellir, Svartalfheim, Alfheim, and Muspelheim, and forced them into subservience. He wanted to be known as the benevolent leader, the wise and just ruler of Asgard, king of the golden city. And they both knew the main thing he’d need to get rid of to make it happen: Hela.

Because the solution to all of Odin’s problems, it seemed, was to cover them up. 

Like he’d done with the mural on the ceiling of the throne room. The one that had made her… _happy,_ or something equally disgusting and naïve. Because her father was proud of her. He'd displayed her battles for all of the Nine Realms to see. And yes, it was him in the center, but she had thought that he _was_ the king, and she strived to be the best warrior and not the best ruler, so it totally wasn’t a testament to his own ego.

He'd covered it up last week, with a golden mosaic of himself, the wise and benevolent All-Father. Because in the end, that was all he cared about.

And Hela was not happy with the treatment she was receiving for fighting by her father’s side for centuries.

Odin _used_ her. For his battles, his wars, for his empire. As a tool of destruction and now that she wasn't useful anymore, he cast her aside.

When Hela looked back and considered those months after the end of the Muspelheim war when she and Odin had argued for months about invading Jotunheim, there were only two things that had stopped her from attacking her own people.

First Odin had sent the Valkyrie Sigrid and Isa, the only two people Hela might consider friends, away on a “quest” bestowed by the king himself. At least they were together.

Then two weeks ago, Odin had torn down the mural, and was having it redone. She hadn’t talked to him since, but she knew he was watching her.  

As was her mother Frigga, the Queen of Asgard. Hela thought sometimes that she would have liked her mother more when she was a shieldmaiden, and perhaps Frigga would have liked her daughter more back then. But Frigga just wanted to be a mother now, and had only ever liked Hela when she had smiled and gurgled and chewed on the ends of her raven black hair. And Hela wasn’t that person anymore. It hadn’t been her for eight hundred years.

 

“She’s not as powerful as she thinks she is,” Father–Odin–had said to Frigga, in a private conversation she wasn’t supposed to be listening to.

And Frigga had agreed. _Agreed._

Thanks for the confidence, mom.

“I'm just worried for her,” Odin had said. “That one day, there will be someone stronger than her and it will be her undoing.”

Sure, dad.

“You fear that one day she will be more powerful than you,” Frigga had countered, and yeah, that’s why Hela liked her mom more.

“I fear that the day when no one holds any power over her, all of her boundaries between right and wrong will vanish.”

“No,” Frigga had said. “You are worried that one day your words will hold no sway over her.”

“These days, I doubt they have any.” Well, they don’t. They _shouldn’t._

“My words haven’t had any sway on her since she decided to become a warrior,” Frigga had said, which was true, but it sounded differently from what Hela said in her head.

“Her lust for war is concerning,” Odin had said.

“She is the goddess of death,” Frigga had pointed out.

“But that does not warrant her blatant disrespect for everyone else. Even her parents.”

And didn’t that make her blood boil. _Respect._ What respect had anyone for her, again? Nobody seemed to care what she thought, or how she felt. It was “be a good girl, Hela, and attack those dwarves. Now stay. Sit. Down.”

She was sick of it.

Hela had seriously considered it then: Rebellion. Mutiny. Rightful ascension.

But in the end, there were two things that changed her mind.

One occurred to her at that moment, when Odin spoke the closing remarks, and everybody turned and looked at her and waited for her to…

Attack somebody. And Hela almost had.

Somebody named Tyr, because just because she only fought against the Valkyrior and their _enemies_ didn't mean that he was stronger than her; she was the _goddess of death._ And he was just sitting there, smirking at her, fingering his sword and waiting for her to launch herself at him…or something.

While Odin just sat there, watching. Because he'd just humiliated her in front of the whole court; what more was this new offense against her?

They all sat there like they _expected_ her to. They expected her to and she almost did, she came so close to turning on the entire court, on her father, on the _king._ Which made her realize two things:

Asgard didn’t care.

She had been furious at her father because it was their right, as Asgardians, as Æsir, to rule all the cosmos; that’s what every Asgardian child her generation grew up hearing, that’s what _she_ grew up hearing, for sure, because that’s what Odin had said all the time while she was growing up, and all of Asgard had cheered and roared with him. But now they ‘settled’ with the Nine Realms. And now _she_ was at fault for wanting more. After all she had done for _them,_ they just didn’t care for her.

Asgard didn’t care.

So what was the point of fighting for people who didn’t care about her? Why should she let people tell her when to fight and when to not fight?

The second thing she realized:

They both thought they knew her. They both thought that she was just a, a power-hungry warmonger who brute-forced her way through every situation. Odin had predicted exactly what she would do in this very court meeting. Which meant that the entire court had to have known something of what he was planning, and it wasn’t possible for every single person present to hide that foreknowledge.

If she had been paying attention.

Which she hadn’t, because she didn’t care what anybody else thought.

And didn’t that sting.

 _You think you know me,_ Hela thought as she looked around the court. And that was bad because they totally didn’t. She was a power-hungry warmonger for the good of Asgard, and she only brute-forced her way through every situation because…she was too lazy to take the time to do anything else.

There was Lord Heimdall.

Lord Forseti.

Vili and Ve.

General Tyr, the oaf.

Brunnhilde, the Valkyrie who had been selected by Odin to lead the Valkyrior. She alone seemed unconcerned; she leaned on her sword, cape around her (as was a ring of empty seats), and the unconcerned but intense expression was almost worse than the sneering. Because it might, although she refused to admit it to herself, be warranted.

 _You think you know me,_ Hela thought, gaze traveling almost lazily from her mother to her father. You think, just because you conceived me and raised me, you know every aspect of my being; you know all there is to possibly know about me. You think that just because physical strength has always been my greatest strength, there is nothing else I can possibly attempt to do; it is not _possible_ that I should change. You think you can predict exactly what I will do.

And that hurt her only because she knew how close they were to being right.

So maybe her first reason for not declaring open rebellion was born of a petty, childish desire to prove her parents wrong, to say “you can’t tell me what to do!” in a completely backwards manner that involved her _not_ attacking people. Perhaps that was even what Odin had been aiming for. It didn’t matter. Hela had long learned to stop trying to predict Odin’s motives, Odin’s reactions, Odin’s anything. She didn’t–shouldn’t– look for his approval anymore because she wasn’t a child anymore; she didn’t _need_ it, nor did she  _want_ it. Really. 

Hela gazed upon the court, upon all the faces she knew so well, and realized she was thinking of the most efficient way to keep Brunnhilde and Odin away from her long enough so she could kill Tyr, perhaps throw one into the other to take them both down, puncture a column with a necroblade so it would fall on the assembled sneering courtiers, because what was one more battle, one more strategy to cause death and destruction, one more pile of bodies added to her account–

And then she realized that she was so _tired._ Of fighting. Something in the back of her mind told her that in a century she'd by dying for a good battle, an excuse to stab people, but right now? Hela just didn't. Want. To. Fight. 

She looked around the room pointedly. “I’m sorry,” she said, mockingly puzzled. “Are we waiting for something?”

Odin met her gaze with his usual indiscernible expression. “Do the assembled have any further business they would like to bring before the general assembly?” He repeated.

_ Oh yes, I have issues,  _ Hela thought nastily. Many, many issues. Like  _ why did you tear the mural down? Were you ashamed to see me there? Were you ashamed of your own bloodlust?  _ And  _ are you planning on making me disappear quietly now that you don’t want to fight anymore?  _ And what did it say that she also found herself tired of all the fighting? She lived to fight, she lived for death, it was true— that was simply who she was, and Odin had used that until it didn’t serve his purposes anymore. But right now, Hela really just wanted a break. She wanted to curl up in her bedchamber and sleep. She wanted to talk to Isa and Sigrid about the idiocy of her father’s courtiers. She wanted to relax and dine on royal feasts every day instead of the hastily prepared meals served during the wars. And Hela also hated herself for wanting those things. 

But Hela had a second reason why she wasn't going to declare  ~~rebellion~~ rightful ascension.

 

 _“He’s your brother,”_ Frigga had said, and smiled hopefully.

She’d gained a brother four days ago.

(She hadn’t even noticed her mother was pregnant).

For the first time she could remember, Hela found herself unsure of how to act. “Yes?”

“This is Thor,” Frigga had introduced. “Thor Odinson. Thor Odinson, this is your sister, Hela Odinsdottir.”

So. Odin had finally found the means to replace her. With this squalling sack of flesh that would grow up to be the perfect, golden haired prince, just like his parents, while _she_ was-

Thor gurgled at her.

She was not prone to sentiment. She was _not._

But wouldn’t it be delicious irony if she could turn him against his parents? Assuming, of course, that she could pull it off, given that she had little to no experience with people. But she did have a thousand years to learn. And they were _siblings._ Even Odin couldn’t keep him away from her. And it might go horribly wrong, of course, but the thought of the wonderful _revenge_ Hela could have if she managed to manipulate him to suit her own purposes stilled her.

In whatever universe existed, Hela thought, Thor would change it. Maybe in another world, Thor would be the factor that made her decide that she was finally _so done_ with her family, and maybe she would win, and maybe she would lose, but not this one. Perhaps in another universe, she ran off with Thor, if only to hurt her family by keeping him away from them; if only to see if they cared. Maybe there was an alternate reality she stayed out of love for her brother, in which case that naïvete meant she would lose for sure. There was probably a reality where she killed Thor–in all likelihood, there was probably several. Given her own personality.

But maybe in another world, there was a Thor who grew up with her, who even though he might not be like her, he would be a Thor that could still like her.

And maybe it would make enough of a difference.

 

 _“No, of course not,”_ Hela said, with her own brand of sarcasm that she used so often that everybody just assumed it was how she spoke.

“Then let the assembly close,” Odin said, eyes never leaving hers until she rolled her eyes and looked away.

“It’s about time,” she muttered, audibly enough for everyone to hear, not that she cared, and swept out of the hall.

She barely opened the doors before she ran right into the entire Valkyrior. Hundreds of warriors mounted of winged horses, swords drawn and flashing.

“What in the _Norns,”_ she demanded.

Their winged steads pawed nervously at the sight of her.

Brynhildr didn’t move her sword. You weren’t supposed to draw a weapon inside the palace halls (the training grounds didn’t count, and Hela hadn’t technically broken the rule–she’d _conjured_ the blade, there was a clear difference, and it shouldn’t matter that she’d killed somebody with it). “My king?” Brynhildr queried.

“Your _princess,”_ Hela said, “would like to know why you’re here, outside the assembly hall.” She sighed inwardly when she heard Brunnhilde approaching behind her. “Fenris!”

Loyal, lovable Fenris. The only person who loved _and_ understood her. Too bad he couldn’t speak. She heard his oversized paws behind him and conjured a black shaft. It launched her up from the ground a good five feet until she cleared Fenris’ body and she landed on his back. He took a flying leap that carried him above the Valkyrior, who scattered, and ran off.

It occurred to her that it looked like she was running away, but she _wasn’t._ It was the Valkyrior who had scattered. She just didn’t want to deal with their annoyances right now.  

That was all.

Really.

 

-oOoOo-

 

Sigrid and Isa returned just a day later.

“Illane said something major had happened,” Isa said, despite the fact that three of her ribs were broken and her brown hair was matted with blood. (They’d fought a dragon–just two Valkyrie against a _dragon._ They beat it, of course, but just because Hela routinely defeated dragons didn’t mean that they could).

“Yes, you got your ribs smashed in,” Sigrid said irritably, since she was the one holding Isa up. She had fewer noticeable wounds–just a large bruise on the side of her head. But if she thought that Hela wouldn’t notice that several of her fingers weren’t moving, she’d been hit harder than she thought.

“So why didn’t you go to your sister,” Hela demanded, “the _healer,_ instead of me?”

Because for some reason they’d gone straight from the Bifröst to her chambers, which was more her personal training room.

Sigrid shrugged, and then winced. “If ‘something major happened,’” she explained, “you’re usually in the middle of it.”

And that was _so unfair._

But also true.

“Nothing important,” Hela said dryly, “just, my father trying to get me to commit treason. Since he has a son now.”

They gaped at her.

“Hela–Your Highness,” Sigrid protested, “you can’t just _say_ that.”

“You have a brother?”

Hela shrugged. “Everybody knows it’s true. Odin had the entire Valkyrior waiting with swords drawn. And yes, my brother was born five days ago.”

“Swords drawn?”

“In the _palace hall?”_

“Is he cute?”

“And yet they still refuse to admit it was a plot against me,” Hela said, ignoring the comment about Thor because they were supposed to be warriors, not _nursemaids._ The Norns knew Thor had enough of those. “Which involved you, and” -I’m sorry for that- “Odin better regret it.”

“It’s not your fault, Geirdriful,” Sigrid said, and Hela still didn’t understand why her nickname was _Spear-Flinger,_ but they refused to let it drop. Probably because Hela kept calling them _Rae:_ Friend of Sheep.

Hela gave them a bitter look that for some reason they never took seriously. “Was it even a real quest?”

They looked at each other. “…Well, it was dangerous and on the word of a rumor…”

“So, no,” said Brunnhilde, who had clearly teleported silently at some point, and was leaning against the wall with her arms folded. Hela hadn’t locked the door because _no one dared invade her privacy._

Except for Brunnhilde, apparently. _Insolent,_ Hela thought darkly. _I should kill her for that. Or at least maim her._ Only her parents dared enter. It shouldn’t matter that Brunnhilde was the leader of the Valkyrior.

But it probably actually did.

Ugh.

“Good to see you two back alive.” Brunnhilde tilted her head to Hela. “Your Highness.”

  
“Brunnhilde,” Hela said dryly. She worried what Brunnhilde might have overheard–not for herself, but for Sigrid and Isa. It was nothing that Odin would be surprised to hear her saying, but Sigrid and Isa probably shouldn’t be overheard agreeing with her. “What a pleasure. Now would you two go see Illane, or better yet, Eír, before you bleed out all over the floor?”

The two gave final greetings (and no promises) and limped out the door. That left Hela facing Brunnhilde, who hadn’t turned as the two walked out.

“Pleasure to see you too, Geirdriful,” Brunnhilde said, in the same tone as before.

Hela’s eye must have twitched, for sure. “Dada.”

“Pam.”

“Mabel.”

But Brunnhilde only smirked. “Why thank you, Your Majesty,” she said, and was gone as well.

Hela’s eye twitched.

 

-oOoOo-

 

“Hela,” Hela pronounced slowly.

Thor stared at her with his big, baby blue eyes. “Eh-a?”

“Hela,” Hela said again, drawing out the ‘h.’

“A! A!”

“No,” Hela gritted out, because she was trying not to snarl or anything. If it scared her enemies, Hela reasoned, then it would scare babies. See, she was going to be a wonderful elder sister. “Hhhheeeellaaaa.”

“No!” Thor babbled happily.

Hela clenched her fists and felt a meter long blade materialize in each hand. “You do realize you are talking the crown princess?”

“No!” Thor repeated.

“I have battled entire armies single-handedly! I have fought wars and come out unscathed. I could end your life in an instant, little brother. Have you really nothing to say to that?”

“No!”

“I am the goddess of death!” Hela said. In a flash, one blade was right underneath Thor’s chin. “What are you the god of?”

“‘Arkles!”

“Tell me, brother,” Hela said, leaning in close. “What are you the god of again?”

Thor reached out with one pudgy finger and bopped her nose.

She blinked.

Thor cooed at her.

She was pointing something very sharp at his chin.

And he cooed at her.

Hela didn’t understand babies at all.

“Hela,” Frigga asked, sweeping into the nursery, “what are you doing?”

“Attempting to converse with my younger brother,” Hela said sweetly, blades disintegrating silently. “Is there something wrong, Mother?”

“No, not at all,” Frigga said in the same soothing voice she'd used when Hela was _six._ She still looked as impeccable as ever in her embroidered gold gown. Frigga never wore Hela’s colors; black and green. Frigga had started wearing gold as supposed to her old bronze and blue shieldmaiden colors when she married Odin; it was traditional. You wore your own colors, and you also wore the colors of your loved ones, especially on their naming day or when mourning a loved one who had passed. Hela wondered if Frigga knew what that said about how she felt about Hela. Or if she knew, and just didn’t care enough to even put up a show.

She must. She was _Frigga._

“Are you sure he's supposed to be this slow-witted?” Hela asked.

“He's hardly able to talk yet, Hela.”

“He can't talk at all. That's not what I meant. Look!” In a flash, Hela conjured a shorter blade and held the tip right above Thor’s little chest.

Frigga let out a half-gasp, and a half strangled yell when Thor let out a little shriek. But he was only shrieking in joy, his little pudgy fingers trying to grasp the blade. Thor, you idiot. You don’t try to _grab_ the pointy object–unless you’re as strong a warrior as your awesome older sister.

“You see?” Hela asked.

“Hela,” Frigga said, her voice cold, “put that away _now.”_

Hela gave her a look but spread her fingers, letting the blade disintegrate before it could actually fall and pierce Thor in the heart. She hated this tone of voice, the ‘put away your toys now’ kind of voice, as if she were a child. But it was colder than she had ever heard it.  It was a wintry; listen to me or you will suffer tone, one that would have terrified the majority of Asgard, and even made Odin pay attention.

“He's going to learn how to fight eventually,” Hela said, leaving out the ‘against me.’ “Aren't you?” She cooed, reaching out and tickling Thor under the chin with one finger. “You're going to be a great warrior–not as great as me, of course, but still _good.”_

Thor beamed and grasped her finger with both hands, bopping it into his nose.

Frigga’s jaw dropped, a phenomena that hadn’t occurred in centuries.

Hela didn't even notice.

 

-oOoOo-

 

 **Notes:** Baby Thor was responding to her tone/mood. So when she was pointing her spear at him, she wasn’t actually threatening his life, she was just very, very confused. Because babies are weird.

When Baby Thor said: ‘Arkles! He meant “sparkles.” Thunder is a bit too much for babies, you see. I’m sure he’ll grow into it.

Yes, Hela, it really _does_ matter whether you killed someone within the palace halls, conjured blade or not. Also, your parents care a lot more about you than you think.

But you’re kinda busy being an over-dramatic, self-centered, ridiculously powerful, moody teenager who likes to rant about their problems over and over and _over_ again.

Ah, well. You’ll grow up eventually.

Brunnhilde is the one known as Valkyrie in Thor: Ragnarok. In another lifetime, instead of “why thank you, Your Highness,” she said “many apologies, Your Majesty,” and then shocked Thor with the little disk thing. But not this one.

-Translation of Old Norse:

Guirdriful: spear-flinger

Rae: sheep’s friend

Dada: curly-haired one

Pam: all sweetness. [To Hela? How _dare_ she!]

Mabel: adorable [well that’s one way I would never describe Valkyrie]

 

-oOoOo-

 

Two hundred years later, the Jotuns invaded Midgard. Once again, Hela was placed at the head of Odin’s armies. She didn't expect any praise for it, or for any ballads to be sung in her name. She only did it because it was nice to kill without people (Frigga, I’m looking at you) looking at your disapprovingly. But Odin didn't stop once the Jotuns were driven out of Midgard. He drove them into their own territory, stole the Casket of Ancient Winters (ridiculous name–Hela called it the Ice Box, but it was the heart of Jotunheim. They would not survive without it). Odin also lost an eye to Laufey. He was getting old. Good news for Hela, of course. And he came back with a baby. A baby that _looked_ Asgardian.

Hela wasn’t stupid.

“Odin,” Hela said, because she had stopped calling him ‘father’ oh, about two hundred years ago. “Do you mean to tell me that you _kidnapped_ a Jotun baby?”

Odin stared at her impassively, bundle in his arms. “I have not yet told you anything, Hela.”

Oh, because _that’s_ a reason.

Hela waited.

“This is your new brother,” Odin said. “Loki Odinson.”

“Adopting him doesn’t make him more Asgardian.”

Or naming him after a dead general, who just so happened to have been Odin’s personal friend. He hadn’t been a very _good_ general. He hadn’t even managed to keep himself alive. But Hela didn’t say that out loud because Odin was still feeling _sentiment_ about his death.

Really, Hela didn’t get nearly enough praise for being tactful.

“It makes him my son, and a prince of Asgard.”

“Why,” Hela demanded, “did you take him? Is he Laufey’s son?”

Odin stared at her impassively.

“He is, isn’t he,” Hela realized. “By the Norns, Odin, don’t tell me you just-”

“He is your brother!” Odin’s voice rose. “I forbid you to ever tell him of his…origins, Hela, if not as your father, then as your king.”

Hela stared down at him. She exactly as tall as him, but he somehow looked taller. It was upsettingly annoying. She didn’t usually back down. If she didn’t agree with something, she just outright said so, or killed whatever she disagreed with.

But.

This baby…Loki…was a shapeshifter. That could be all sorts of fun.

Hela tried to convince herself this was a legitimate reason.

Odin continued glaring (staring at her impassively, same difference) at her through his one eye.

“If you insist,” she said finally, letting the blade she had been twirling casually disintegrate.

She was lying.

She lied so rarely because she rarely ever needed or wanted to lie, so nobody, not even Odin, not even Frigga, suspected her of it.

But her agreement meant more than what Odin thought it meant.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and please leave a comment. :)
> 
> I wanna know why nobody has commented on the "Massive Cankled Unicorn" tag. 
> 
> By the way. Just sayin'.


End file.
